If a tree falls in the back yard, and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
I don't know. Because I wasn't there to hear it. I didn't even know that it fell until this morning, when The Pony and I backed the Tahoe out of the garage. We always glance into the back yard, just in case there's a cat-and-rabbit game going on. Our cats kill more rabbits than Tank the Beagle. We know we won't observe a chickenfest, because we leave before the chickens unroost. Only the guineas are on the prowl at 6:50 a.m. And they're up to no good. I loathe a guinea with the white-hot heat of 10,000 Seinfelds loathing Newman.
Our blighty oak must have taken a hit during yesterday's storms. Funny that it was intact when we arrived home at 5:10 p.m. The heavy rains and thunder were almost over by then. Dish Network was not even interrupted during the Survivor premiere and Big Brother finale. So I know that a downpour was not the cause. Winds were only 10-15 mph. I would have heard the sharp report of a lightning strike so close to the house. So I'm baffled.
Look at that baby. Snapped off at the base. A gnawing beaver can't reach that high. It's almost as if somebody or something pushed and pushed until Blighty Oak snapped. Perhaps my yard is the last refuge of MOMO. You remember MOMO, don't you? The Missouri Monster? A midwestern summertime Abominable Snowman? An uncool heartland Sasquatch? A western hemisphere Yeti? A hillbilly Bigfoot? Maybe he looks a little like this:
Or maybe it was just time for a dead tree to snap.